


Of Battles and Shattered Prides

by Bluegamerchick



Category: My Time At Portia (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Swearing, villain point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-04 17:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18348590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluegamerchick/pseuds/Bluegamerchick
Summary: We all know the point of view from the people of Portia. They tried to rebuild the city with the help if builders. But, we never heard the point of view of the one who caused the damages to the great, port city known as Portia.





	Of Battles and Shattered Prides

Hatred. Hatred was all he knew at this point.

Hatred against the ones in the Knighthood who called him too weak due to his health.

Hatred against the people of Duvos who belittle him.

Hatred at the higher-ups who forced him through such harsh surgeries and training.

Hatred at the cowards who chose to fear the relics of the Dark Age.

And most notable, hatred at the God-forsaken, builder in that damn port town.

He could feel his blood boil just at the thought of them. Them and their stupid little group of Civil Corps members. Oh, what were thier names? That's right, Arlo, Sam, and Remington. Just thinking of their names want to make him hurl.

His hands twitch, trying to grab a sword he lost to the city of Portia. A sword he stabbed into the ground as reminder. A reminder to say he would come back and he would have his revenge. But, he wanted it back.

His sword.

His weapon.

His relic.

He wanted it back, and he didn't care if have to rip up Portia to get it. If made him feel strong and brave, not weak and frail. It made him feel like the knight he had train to be, not what they had called him.

He wanted to scream, scream, and just scream in grief or rage at himself for stabbing his sword in the ground.

He wanted to smash his head against the wall for acting like an idiot and doing that.

With shaky breaths, he tried to calm down.

In, out, in out, in out. 1, 2, 3, 4, repeat, 1, 2 ,3 ,4 repeat.

He could feel his lungs scream for air.

Where was it? 

Where was that damn mask part? 

Where was that damn thing they made for him to breath with?

He reach in the darkness, and grab something. His eyes adjusted and look down to see and his mask in hand.

With a few short breaths, he shoved it on.

1, 2, 3, 4, repeat, 1, 2, 3, 4 repeat. In, out, in, out. 

His breathing slowly became normal, he didn't feel his lungs screaming as they tried to collapse.

With shaky steps, he got up.

Pace yourself, pace yourself. 1, 2, 3, 4, step, repeat.

He kept the same tempo with walking, slowly turning it into a march.

He marched straight to the higher-ups.

Who would chew him up and spit him out.

Who would yell and curse him for being reckless.

Who would snarl and question why they let such a power hungry knight into their lands.

He didn't care.

He could call their bluff.

He could call them hypocrites.

They were worse than him.

They ripped through nations looking for relics, while he sat and wait.

They killed me and woman, children and families for relics, while he waited for a poor folk to stumble across and steal it for his own.

They tore through battle fields to get tp ruins, while he lied and walk right through with no problem.

He reached the doors.

The doors that have always loomed over him.

Judging him before he could be judged.

It annoyed him.

But, as in a routine, he walked right in. His steps not heavy nor light, but he tried to make as foreboding as ever. 

And as if in a cycle, the higher-ups either sang him praises, scold and yelled at him, or kept quiet.

And like always, they ones who said nothing hurt more than the ones yelling and calling him a bastrad.

It was like a reminder of what the knights did to him.

A reminder of coldness and bitterness.

A reminder of the day he spoke out and soon lost everything he had trained and won.

HIs title, his rank, his honor.

The only thing he kept was his sword.

His sword.

The sword he was gonna go back for and use to slice the builder's head off with.

The same sword he was gonna use to burn Portia to the ground.

Silence soon filled the room.

They heard him.

They heard his anger rant.

And they loved it.

They encourage him.

They clapped and laugh.

"Go, go, burn that town to the ground"

"Take back the All Source"

"Take no prisoners, make them weak."

They all soon sang his praise.

It want to his head, like always.

Soon the praises died down and he was ordered, ordered to go train and get ready.

He nodded and bowed, soon leaving the council, smiling

He has lost everything

His title

His rank

His honor

His relic

But now, he was going to make that builder suffer

He was going to strip that builder of everything

Even if meant burn the whole town and countryside of Portia down.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo  
> These came out more dark than I was expecting. And I finished this around 1 am. I'm sorry if it seem OOC for Rouge Knight.
> 
> I still hope you all like it though.


End file.
